


Love, Ada

by ccuddlefish



Category: Resident Evil / Biohazard
Genre: Domesticity, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Kinda? Not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 11:35:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4875319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccuddlefish/pseuds/ccuddlefish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I feel like Ada would have to go away a lot for her job. Probably without warning, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love, Ada

She woke to the clatter of a hardcover book rolling off the foot of her bed and hitting the wooden planks of the floor with a loud slap. Helena lifted her head, groggily seeking out the source of the noise, and, upon finding it, sleepily grinning and turning to Ada. Not ready to open her eyes just yet, she reached out a hand, running her palm across the white covers, expecting to find a barrier of skin meeting skin. Her hand slid along the length of the bed and encountered the edge quickly enough. 

Ada's side was still warm, slightly damp from the sweat of their skins, and completely empty, the duvet thrown off and the pillow askew. That was strange. New. The routine of the few months she'd stayed here had been disrupted. Usually, on Saturday mornings like this, they woke together, had breakfast, Helena went into work for the late start, Ada went out to run errands and do what she could in the city- and they'd never disrupted that routine for as long as they'd had it. Helena's brain did a quick calculation. Four months. You didn't just walk out on your girlfriend of four months. 

Stomach dropping in her abdomen, Helena rose, clutching the edge of her sleep t-shirt to her body. Her feet made a soft padding noise across the cool hardwood, calming her nerves just a little bit. 

"Ada?" She called quietly, afraid of the quiet hum of electricity coursing through her apartment and afraid of what she might hear. No answer. Something hot boiled up in her stomach.

She tore the place apart looking, wild hair flying and hands aggressively hitting whatever they could find to mask how hard they were shaking. The curtains flew open, striking bright late morning light onto her face, making her eyes burn, but revealing nothing. She threw open closets, paced her bedroom, eyeing the depression in the mattress where Ada slept, overturned chairs. Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

"Ada?" She called over and over, louder than before. Her apartment was small, though, and there was only so much to search (as if Ada was just hiding in the bathroom or under a couch, in a closet, ready to jump out and yell "boo!"). Helena righted a chair at the table, leaving the other one where it lay, haphazardly sprawled across the kitchen tiles, put her head in her hands, and just sat there, listening to her own breathing. She might have been crying, but she wasn't really sure.

People had tried to tell her that it wouldn't last, that Ada was too slippery, too unpredictable, too odd. And they'd mocked them later, both her and Ada in fits of giggles repeating the nasty words in silly, high-pitched voices. Wouldn't you prefer to meet a nice boy and settle down, Helena? Why don't you stop all this nonsense and just focus on your work? Are you sure this "friend" of yours is right for you? It was so funny at the time, the idea that it wasn't permanent. She didn't expect Ada to just up and leave, did she?

Helena didn't know what she expected. She raked a hand through her tangled locks, opening her eyes and blinking away the remnants of tears. Ada or no Ada, she had to go to work today. 

What Helena certainly didn't expect to see in front of her was a folded piece of paper, neatly creased four times and lying crooked on the table from when she'd jostled it in her frantic search. But that was what she saw, catching light on a translucent corner, lying next to one of her plates. One of the cranberry danishes that Ada knew she liked from the tiny, cramped bakery down the street was lopsided and slightly crumpled where it perched on the white china, presumably from the earlier shakedown she'd given the dining area. She didn't want to know what the paper said, but she picked it up anyway with shaking hands and curled toes, entire body thrumming with a nervous electricity. 

The paper was creamy, blotted with a drop of what looked like milk, and had a few words right in the center, tiny and neat lettering in a steady hand.

Got called away to work. Sorry I couldn't say goodbye. Two days maximum, and I'll make it up to you.

And, scrawled in a loose, elegant hand that Helena knew, beyond a shred of a doubt, was hers,

I love you. Ada.


End file.
